


Daffodil

by SandSunSiliceousOoze



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AU where Astrid and Eodwulf join the Mighty Nein and deal with their trauma, Alternate Universe - Future, Flowers, Gen, Guilt, Healing, Past Abuse, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 14:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandSunSiliceousOoze/pseuds/SandSunSiliceousOoze
Summary: "I never thought I could bring something beautiful into this world. I thought my hands were stained with too much blood to let me help something live."Caduceus looks at him with the same terrible, unreadable face that has haunted Eodwulf since they first met. His face is so neutral, so blank that it's impossible to even try and guess what's going through his mind. Then he smiles, pleasantly, and locks eyes with Wulf."There can't be life without death, Mister Eodwulf. It's the natural order of things. And there's beauty in decay. Watch."





	Daffodil

**Author's Note:**

> me, pointing at 2k words: is this a drabble?
> 
> [content warning for brief mention of suicidal thoughts and mentions of Trent Ikithon]

"I… never thought that I could do something like this."

"Hm?" Caduceus cocks his head, pauses his pawing at the dirt to peer through his curtain of hair towards Wulf.

Wulf looks down at the daffodil that's just starting to bud. It looks so small and fragile next to his hands, large and rough and stained with blood. Part of him wants to crush it, to destroy it so at least he ruins something on purpose for once, instead of by accident. He doesn't want to love this tiny flower growing impossibly in the darkness, doesn't want to see it bloom into something so beautiful and alive that it hurts to see it wilt and die. He should just kill it now. It would be so easy, it's so _weak--_

He clumsily pats some more dirt around its stem. If he doesn't keep his hands busy he might do something he regrets. And he knows he would regret killing the flower. Will regret it when it eventually dies with or without his help, but that's a wound to be opened later.

"I never thought I could bring something beautiful into this world. I thought my hands were stained with too much blood to let me help something live."

Caduceus looks at him with the same terrible, unreadable face that has haunted Eodwulf since they first met. His face is so neutral, so blank that it's impossible to even try and guess what's going through his mind. Then he smiles, pleasantly, and locks eyes with Wulf. 

"There can't be life without death, Mister Eodwulf. It's the natural order of things. And there's beauty in decay. Watch."

He reaches behind himself, picks up a rotting piece of fruit from the ground, and holds it in his hands. It's unpleasant to look at- flesh darkening and split open with white fuzzy mold starting to creep across its surface. It smells sickly-sweet, the scent of rot that Wulf can never decide if he likes or hates. Caduceus lowers his head, closes his eyes like he's praying, and whispers something to the fruit.

As Eodwulf watches, the white mold grows faster, stretching its fine, wispy tendrils across the surface of the fruit, and a second mold, this one dark green in color, spreads from a different direction. Caduceus sets it down onto the soil and plucks a bit of lichen from his breastplate. He crumbles it onto the fruit with the same focus and movement Wulf has seen him season stews with, and there's a moment where nothing happens.

Then the fruit almost _melts_ like fat over a fire and a cluster of bright pink mushrooms sprout from it quickly, growing and opening so fast that a small rain of pink spores fall from them, shaken loose by the sudden movement. Eodwulf can only stare at them, and for a single horrible moment he feels like he might cry. But he pushes it down, cursing himself for being so weak, and just watches the mushrooms grow.

"See?" Caduceus says, his voice a pleased rumble. "Beauty."

\---

It’s an uncharacteristically warm night for Rosohna when Caduceus wakes up, shirt sticking to him from a layer of sweat. He has no idea what time of day or night it is, he doesn’t have Caleb’s knack for time-telling. It feels like nighttime, though, even with the perpetual darkness. He shifts into a different position, tries closing his eyes and going back to sleep, but there’s something calling him back from that place of rest. He can feel something pulling him towards his garden, so he goes. He’s not sure if it’s Her insistence or just a gut feeling, but he trusts both implicitly. 

Sure enough, there’s a shape that isn’t often there, and with only the night-dimmed glow of the jars of light it’s hard to make out who or what it is, but as Caduceus pads closer, he can see the light reflecting off a long ponytail streaked with white. Caduceus isn’t interested in scaring him, so he comes to a halt and calls out, just to let him know he’s there.

"Mister Eodwulf," he says, and his voice is gravelly with sleep, “what brings you to the garden at this hour?” Not that he knows what this hour is, exactly, but it’s something people say and it sounds fitting for the situation. He keeps his voice as low and soothing as possible- Eodwulf is still adjusting to being with the Mighty Nein (Mighty Nine? It’s all so confusing, these plays on words) and he can get a bit jumpy. 

There’s no response, but based on the slump of the shoulders and the way he seems to be curled in on himself just slightly, he’s feeling rough. As Caduceus takes stock of his body language and the way he seems to be breathing just a bit heavier than normal, he realizes that Eodwulf is knelt close to where his flowers were planted.

“I’m coming over,” he says, and gives Eodwulf a full ten seconds to protest or run. When neither thing happens, he starts moving again, and kneels next to him. Glancing over, it’s hard to see Eodwulf’s face properly because his back is to the closest light source and his face is mostly in shadow. He he looks angry and sad and hurt, and this is almost certainly why Caduceus was called up here. The soil is soft and warm under his knees, and he puts a hand down in front of him, just touching the dirt, imagining he can feel all the tiny worms and bugs and roots and _life_ shifting and growing and living and dying. He focuses on his breathing, on the sounds of the city at night, on the gently creaking of the tree branches as a warm breeze blows through them. He flinches when a leaf falls on his head, surprised, but it’s very pretty and he forgives it for startling him.

Eodwulf stays quiet and stock-still, like if he moves, he’ll have to admit to being real and alive. And then finally, _finally_ he says, “I killed it.”

“Hm?”

“I killed it. The flower. The one you helped me plant. It’s all withered and dead.”

Caduceus looks down, now that he’s been invited to, and daffodil is, in fact, starting to turn brown in the petals. 

“I forgot to water it,” Eodwulf continues, “a few times, actually, I just- I forgot and didn’t realize until tonight and when I came up here it was like this, I killed it because I’m so fucking _stupid_ , I can’t even take care of a damned flower without ruining everything. He was... right. I’m a failure.”

Caduceus listens, nods along, and lets the silence linger for just a moment after Eodwulf is finished. Then he says, “You’re not a failure, Mister Eodwulf, and you’re certainly not stupid. And you didn’t kill it. It was always going to die. But the nice thing about daffodils is they come back.”

“How.” It’s not a question so much as it is a challenge, Eodwulf daring him to lie or feed him platitudes.

“It’s just how they work. You plant them, they bloom, they die, and then next year they grow again, same as before. Yours actually stayed in bloom longer than I thought it would.”

Eodwulf narrows his eyes at him, trying to figure out if he’s lying. He’s not, of course- he had been pleasantly surprised by how well the flower had done, especially given the strange conditions it was given to grow in. That’s the funny thing about nature, how it adapts to survive even when by all means, it shouldn’t.

Finally Eodwulf looks away, back down at the flower in front of him. “I wanted to kill it, you know. For a while. I wanted to kill it on purpose so I couldn’t kill it on accident. But I didn’t, and that’s exactly what happened. I’m tired of this, Clay.”

“Of what?” He doesn’t technically need to ask, he’s been in this position hundreds of times before- he can feel the need to talk radiating off of Eodwulf, the need to unburden himself of the pain and grief he’s feeling, but he feels like Eodwulf would benefit from a bit of nudging.

There’s silence for a few minutes, and Eodwulf doesn’t move from where he’s kneeling, but Caduceus unfolds his legs from beneath them so he can settle into a cross-legged position. The knees of his pants are dark with dirt, and now the seat of his pants will be too, but it’s nothing he’s not used to. 

“I lost count. Of the people I’ve killed. I tried to keep track, for a little while, but it was- turning into something to brag about. And I don’t have Bre- _Caleb’s_ sharp mind, so I was allowed to lose count. But part of me wishes I wasn't, that I- that I knew.”

“What would you do with that information, if you had it?” He’s a little wary of pushing too far, but Eodwulf is the type of person who doesn’t open up easily, and he’s afraid that if he leaves him entirely to his own devices, he won’t get all of the pain and the rot out. Before he can start to bloom again, he needs to have fresh ground to plant himself in.

Eodwulf sighs. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’d- I don’t know. I feel like I owe them something. Some sort of remembrance. I don’t even- _fuck_ , Clay, I don’t even know how many of them were- were _guilty_ -” His voice is starting to crack, just a little, and now Caduceus backs off. This next part will have to be offered freely.

“I’m a wretched person. I’ve always been a wretched person, and he saw that and used it to twist me, mold me into someone _worse_ and I don’t even know whether I hate him for that more than I hate myself. Sometimes I wish I could die, but that wouldn’t make up for-” he chokes back what sounds like a sob, “-for what I did. What I’ve done.”

Caduceus isn’t sure whether the bead of liquid the dim light catches is a tear or a bead of sweat, but his eyes follow it as it rolls down his cheek and falls into the dirt. Eodwulf is quiet again, and it seems like he’s waiting for something- absolution, maybe, or condemnation, but Caduceus isn’t someone suited to provide either, and he isn’t interested in trying.

“I think that you’ve lain fallow for a long time, Mister Eodwulf, but just because nothing has grown doesn’t mean nothing _can_. It’s going to take work before you can start planting seeds. But nature is more adaptable than people think. Beautiful things can grow in the harshest of conditions.”

“Hm.”

It’s quiet for a long time, the longest yet, but Caduceus lets the silence stretch on. It’s not his place to break it. He looks at the jars of sunlight, dimmed to imitate a traditional night/day cycle but not completely extinguished. At the tree he’s brought to a strange land and helped to thrive. At the sprouts and stalks of vegetables he’s growing. At the shape of Eodwulf as he tries to decide whether to wither or try to grow again. 

“Will you do the thing?” He asks, finally, and gestures to the flower. “The mold thing. Like the-” He makes a gesture with his hands that Caduceus doesn’t quite understand, but he knows what Eodwulf is wanting.

“Yeah, ‘course.” He shifts back onto his knees, crawls a little closer so he’s next to Eodwulf, and reaches down to touch the flower. From where his finger rests against it, fine white tendrils start to creep across the browning petals. It’s almost like watching snow, if snow spread instead of fell. They don’t encompass the whole flower like a spider might encase its prey in webbing. Instead, they weave along its surface, stopping where the stem meets the bud, and Eodwulf watches the flower rapidly start to soften and collapse. It’s mesmerizing and a little upsetting, but he doesn’t look away. When the last petal has fallen, he watches as the mold consumes it, reduces it to nothing, and looks to Caduceus.

“There were no mushrooms this time.”

“No, but we didn’t need mushrooms. We needed nutrients. We can do the same with the stem when it’s properly dead. But now we’ve given back to the soil, and hopefully that’ll help it to grow again.”

Eodwulf nods, then pushes himself to his feet. “I’m going to bed.”

Caduceus stands as well, moving to brush the dirt from his pants but thinking better of it. Easier to just wash them in the morning. “Good night, Mister Eodwulf.” He watches him go, and there’s a change in his posture. It’s slight, barely noticeable, but it makes Caduceus smile to see it. He’s excited to see what Eodwulf will plant.


End file.
